Chapter 8 - The Confrontation at the Dock
Julian stepped out of the car, his expensive leather shoes sinking into a shallow puddle on the asphalt. He waved his guards back with a dismissive flick of his wrist.
"What do you want, Elena?" Julian asked, standing three feet away from her under his umbrella. "Money? Passports? I can have five million dollars wired to an offshore account in your name by ten o'clock. You take the girl, leave the country, and never come back."
Elena looked at him—at the man who had destroyed her career, hunted her like an animal, and whose wife had treated her daughter like vermin.
"I don't want your money, Julian," Elena said, her tone utterly devoid of fear. "I want a public retraction. I want Victoria to sign a full confession regarding the assault on Maya, and I want Vance International to fund the strike workers' union demands."
Julian let out a low, dark laugh. "You're delusional. You think a disgraced analyst and a group of room-service waiters can pull down a three-billion-dollar corporation?"
"We aren't pulling it down, Julian," Elena replied, pointing toward the end of the street. "We're just turning on the lights."
Around the corner of the industrial block, the roar of heavy engines broke through the rain.
May you like
Three large commercial buses pulled up to the curb, followed by four news vans carrying satellite dishes on their roofs. The bus doors folded open, and dozens of hotel workers—servers, cooks, housekeepers, and dishwashers—poured out onto the street, wearing their gray uniforms and holding printed signs of protest.
In front of them stood Marcus, carrying a megaphone.
